


Game of Thrones Femslash Ficlets

by orphan_account



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Bisexual Character, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom/sub, F/F, Femslash, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, Lesbian Character, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smut, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-20 17:08:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18996928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: REQUESTS OPENGame of Thrones femslash one shots, two parters and so on. Written by request. Read first chapter for rules, request information and pairings.1. Myrcella/Arya2. Meera/Ygritte3. Daenerys/Rhaenyra





	1. Rules and Pairings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FelipeCH98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelipeCH98/gifts).



Femslash Fictlets involving characters in Game of Thrones (and A Song Of Ice and Fire), though nothing beyond. Each request will be written as a whole chapter (lengths may vary or be requested). More information is as follows:

  * These ficlets will be published at random times, there is no set update schedule (basically whenever I can force myself to write). Also please don't barrage me with messages, private or otherwise, asking for updates. Just.. dont do that. I will invoke the gods.
  * No characters from outside fandoms will be written and have to be within the world of Fire and Ice. No reader x character one shots either. (Sorry those just make me uncomfortable). No character x OCs either, mainly because I do a lot of character studies and that would just confuse things.
  * I wont do many pairings that are abstract or involve characters rarely seen (such as Mya Stone, Myranda Royce, Arianne Martell etc.) This doesn't mean I wont, it just means the likelihood of me publishing a oneshot of the characters is greatly diminished unless I personally like it or the prompt.
  * Following up on the first point, there can be ficlets involving characters who have appeared in The World of Ice and Fire, such as the Targaryens or any other people. (Just make sure to specify which one if this is the case, the history of this world is crazy and redundant).
  * There are very few things I wont do, meaning basically everything is one the table in terms of content. This can include any warnings (underage, rape/non-con or other), as well as multi ships. What I will NOT do however, is excessive dirty talk, which, in my opinion, is out of character for basically any of them (except maybe Ramsay but hey, hes RAMSAY).
  * All alternate universes are accepted, though if they are involved expect the chapters to be longer because I love to ramble and world build (even if this is just a bunch of crap).
  * First come first serve. Thats how it goes, sorry.



 

OTPs (for reference):

Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell

Arya Stark/Myrcella Baratheon

Sansa Stark/Arya Stark (give me a break >.<)

Daenerys Targaryen/Sansa Stark

Daenerys Targaryen/Arya Stark

 

Honestly I'm up for whatever, but again, more main characters, or better fleshed out ones, will be written in greater depth and with the promise of being written at all, while others, more abstract and rarely mentioned or seen pairings may be later on or never forthcoming.

 

Alright, if you skipped all the rules and comment down below something that goes against one of them.. **YOU SHALL BE SILENCED.**


	2. Arya/Myrcella - Rain and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Kyra
> 
> Prompt: Stap-on smut; Arya dom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably one of the shorter ones, mainly because I am really tired and am working on a few other prompts (which should be out in a day or so). Thanks for the suggestion!

 

Myrcella didn't know what she was expecting when Arya miraculously showed up at her door at ten o’clock at night, holding a blossoming little rose with a deep blush on her cheeks, but it wasn't this. Her hair was matted to her head from the curtains of rain that had been appearing all day, but she still looked beautiful.

“Come in silly! You’ll catch a cold out there!” Myrcella giggled, tugging at Arya’s hand. Arya grinned before stepping inside, wasting no time before shaking out her mane of unruly brown hair. Water flung everywhere, small beads cascading down in ribbons. 

Myrcella squealed. “Oh my gods you're awful!” She laughed.

Arya puffed out her lip. “Does this make up for it?”

Yes. Yes it did. The rose was thornless, its stem a cord of green samite. The petals were cotton-soft, albeit it veined in little blooms of white water. Myrcella smelled it and smiled widely, biting her lip. “Youre lucky youre such a romantic.”

Arya gave her a sly smirk. “Don't I know it.”

Myrcella left to put the rose in a vase, setting it on the kitchen table next to the note her Mother had left.  _ Dinner in the fridge. Watch Tommen.  _

__ Ever since her Father had died, Joffrey and Tommen had been nearly unbearable. Joffrey had become bitter and cold (more so than already which was both shocking and miserable), and Tommen.. Well, Tommen was hysterical. He had started talking to his cats more than his family, and had taken to mumbling to himself. It was kind of scary, but Myrcella always took the time to bring him food or read him a story. Joffrey would have none of that. 

Cersei had gone out with Joffrey again, most likely out to a club of some kind. When Myrcella had woken up, the note had been there. Tommen had gone to a friend’s house, Russel’s, if she remembered correctly. It was a pleasant surprise when Arya showed up, one she wouldn't take for granted, quenching her loneliness. She could use a hug or two.  

When she returned Arya was petting one of the small grey cats which had grown fat over Tommen’s feedings. Myrcella sat down next to her, watching as the cat purred, ridging its back into a soft arch. 

“He really likes you,” Myrcella comments. 

“I find animals like me more than people,” Arya replied, chuckling.

Myrcella frowned. “You’d be hard pressed to find an animal that likes you more than I do.”

Arya turned towards her, grinning like a dork. Myrcella nuzzled into her neck, winding her arms around her girlfriend’s narrow belly. Arya was warm, as she noticed most Northern girls were, (Not that she had much experience with them of course). Arya started stroking her hair, running her fingers through Myrcella’s golden locks. 

Myrcella sighed. 

“So, how can I entertain you?” Arya asked. The cat hopped down off the Stark’s knees, bounding off into the kitchen. Arya used her now free hand to run her fingers along Myrcella’s bare arm, causing the other girl to shiver.

She had had sex before with Arya, and enjoyed it very much. Arya wasn't exactly gentle all the time, but she was kind and tender, always taking care to note what Myrcella liked and did not like, what made her scream in ecstasy and what didn't. Myrcella blushed to think about it, feeling a stirring in her gut. 

“What do you want to do? I’m all yours.” Myrcella placed a gentle kiss to Arya’s neck, feeling her girlfriend stiffen before melting into the touch. Taking this as a sign Myrcella started to bite, not hard, but enough to leave a mark.

Arya exhaled, and Myrcella bit down harder, earning a small squeak. 

Suddenly their positions were flipped, Myrcella being tossed down onto the couch, staring into Arya’s steel-grey eyes. They were swimming with lust, she could see, but also something far more powerful, love. Myrcella smiled widely, unable to help herself. She rested her hands on Arya’s waist, pulling them together.

“I stand no chance,” Arya murmured, leaning down. “You are so cruel. And naughty. Look what you did.”

Myrcella bit her lip, seeing a small blush of red already forming on Arya’s neck. It only made her swell with pride. 

Then Arya’s lips were on hers, quick and fiesty. Arya’s kisses, at least the more passionate ones, were always tongue and teeth, but tonight she took it slower, taking her time to pry Myrcella’s lips apart.

The Northerner’s hands started to trail up Myrcella's body, over her slim waist and the bumps of her ribs, caressing the soft skin beneath her breasts. Myrcella’s breath caught in her throat and she gasped, holding back a whine. 

Myrcella tangled her fingers in Arya’s hair, trying to pull her closer, more firm against her, feeling a fire well up within her gut. She wanted, no,  _ needed  _ Arya to touch her, to kiss her, to take her away in bliss. 

“Easy, baby girl,” Arya cooed, pulling away and brushing Myrcella’s hair back. 

“Don't ‘baby’ me,” Myrcella scolded lightly, though her resolve had already snapped into tatters.

“But you're my baby girl,” Arya said, trailing her kisses down past Myrcella’s jaw and to the column of her neck. Myrcella’s head lolled to the side, giving her more access, whimpering as Arya’s teeth sank into her unmarked skin. “My little lion.”

Myrcella shivered, squirming. Her lower belly began to ache, and she looked for something to quell it. “Please,” she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady.

She could feel Arya’s smirk as her hands expertly started to pull up on Myrcella’s shirt. Even after all this time she still felt embarrassed when exposed, blushing as red as Arya’s rose. Arya knew this though, and as soon as her shirt was off, the Stark began to kiss all around her chest, pointedly ignoring her breasts, lightly sucking and biting.

Myrcella’s legs wrapped around Arya’s waist, grinding into her hips slightly, looking for some bit of friction. Arya grunted, biting down harder and sending a jolt of heat through Myrcella's body. “Arya please..”

Arya unclasped her bra then, tossing it to the side. The cold air stung but was soon banished by Arya’s mouth. She kissed along the swell of Myrcella’s breast before taking the nipple into her mouth, biting down a little.

Myrcella whined, her throat constricting at the feeling. Arya then moved to the other one, grinning as she did. Just as Myrcella was about to beg her girlfriend again, Arya sat up, straddling her hips. 

“You want to try something new, baby girl?” Arya asked, a smirk fluttering on her lips. Despite what she let on, Myrcella adored the pet name, not that she ever admit to it.

She bit her lip. Something new? Arya would always be kind, she knew, and gentle, if the need arose, and she would always stop if something hurt. Myrcella nodded cautiously, the action only making Arya grin wider.

“Alright. Get undressed.”

Arya stood up, smiling devilishly, before grabbing something from her bag. Myrcella did as she was told, carefully stepping out of her jean-shorts and underwear, pulling her knees to her chest as she waited.

The pattering of rain was soothing, like a lullaby, perturbed only by the ominous claps of roaring thunder; those made her jump. The rain had been constant all day, ownly souring Myrcella's mood. She didnt much care for rain, and ever since she moved to Winterfell rain and snow were about as much as she got.   


Arya took her clothes off as well, though she did so with less trepidation than the Baratheon. Arya was always the confident one, though Myrcella was always the one to reach for Arya’s hand in public or kiss her cheek. _Gods I love her._ Arya was very well built, ridges fissuring her belly where abs had began; muscles gripping her arms and legs. She looked more a man than Joffrey, if truth be told. 

__ Just then, Myrcella grasped what was happening. Arya had something strapped to her waist, on a braided harness. It looked queer, but in a different sense,  _ right.  _ Myrcella swallowed, eyeing the strap-on wearily. “Will it hurt?” She asked hesitantly.

When she had dated Trystane, he had never slept with her, per her own request, and in the end that might have been what broke them up. In truth, ever since she heard her Mother’s shrieks at night, she assumed it hurt. She assumed all sex hurt until Arya proved her wrong, but this was new, and different, and she was a little afraid. More than a little. But this was _Arya,_ her perfect, adoring girlfriend who loved to shower her in sweet kisses.   


Arya straddled her again, leaning down, brushing stray strands of hair away. “It will feel good, I promise. Though if anything is uncomfortable, I promise I’ll stop,” she said, kissing Myrcella gently this time.

Myrcella melted into the feeling, relaxing a fraction. Before she even realized it, one of Arya’s hands had traveled down her torso, reaching her center where she was already wet. She moaned as Arya’s slipped her fingers past Myrcella's folds and over her clit, thumbing it lightly, applying more and more pressure. It was so hot and wet but Myrcella didnt care. She just needed _more._  


Myrcella moaned loudly, her nails digging into Arya’s shoulders, sure to leave marks. She was trembling now, rocking into Arya’s fingers. One slipped inside, causing her to cry out and buck her hips. Then another, and finally a third one, which made Myrcella wince for a split second before she was overcome by pleasure.

Arya crooked her fingers lightly, crossing them which made Myrcella scream. But then they were gone, leaving the younger girl feeling dejected and empty.

That's when she felt something colder against her entrance. It was soft as well, but felt a little odd. She squirmed, locking eyes with Arya who only kissed her on the nose. “It’ll be fine. I’ll go slow. Tell me if anything hurts, baby girl.” Myrcella sighed heavily, shutting her eyes, waiting for what was to come. She found herself not so much afraid as she was curious and anxious.   


Then Arya was moving, true to her word, ever so slowly. It felt tight at first, mildly uncomfortable, but she was so wet it hardly mattered. Her breaths became choked and she sucked in air as fast as she could. It seemed only a few seconds, however, that Arya was fully inside of her.

She took a moment to rest, gazing at Myrcella with blatant love and affection. Myrcella smiled up at her, her eyelids drooping, before pulling Arya into a bruising kiss. It  _ hadn't  _ hurt, and that simple knowledge made her somewhat brave. 

Arya grinned, causing Myrcella to giggle, before her girlfriend started to move. “Ahh!” Myrcella nearly screamed as a shock wave of pleasure overtook her, nearly stopping her heart. She felt more heat simmering in her belly but she didn't care. She needed _more._ More of everything. She was gods damn addicted to this girl. 

__ “Faster!” She begged, gripping Arya’s shoulders and tugging at her sable hair. Arya obliged, rocking her hips forward. She hit something inside of Myrcella that had her shrieking and moaning, a mess, tears springing to her eyes. Her whole body was shaking, her muscles clenching, her breathing become strained.    


Then one of Arya’s hands was there, pressing and rubbing her clit. Myrcella broke, her orgasm washing over her in a thunderous wave. She screamed again, pulling Arya close, trying to tether herself to the earth, to  _ something,  _ lest she float off into a veil of white. 

She collapsed backward, limp and pleasantly thrumming with little sparks of warmth. Arya lay on top of her, breathing into her neck. “Did you like that?” She asked, kissing Myrcella’s neck gently. 

“Mhmm,” Myrcella slurred, running her fingers over Arya’s bare back. “Thank you.”

“Anything for my baby girl,” she replied, smirking into Myrcella’s neck. 

“I thought it would hurt,” she admitted quietly. “Mother.. She never.. She never enjoyed it. I heard her. She was always screaming, and she was crying some nights.” She trailed off, remembering and wincing.

Arya stopped for a moment, sitting up and looking Myrcella square in the eye. “I would  _ never  _ hurt you, ever. I promise. I love you,” they shared another kiss, this one chaste and just a small press of the lips.

Myrcella giggled, cupping Arya’s cheeks. “You are perfect.”

The Stark leaned into her touch, kissing her fingers. “I love you too.”

“I do believe I owe you something,” Myrcella murmured, her strength returning. 

“Oh?” Arya asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’m all yours.”


	3. Meera/Ygritte - Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For FelipeCH98
> 
> Prompt: Meera and Ygritte meet beyond the wall while helping Bran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As with most of your prompts, this one was really interesting, however short. I like the pair and think they could work well of eachother. Enjoy!

It was cold. So bloody cold.

Ygritte was accustomed to such frigid nights and days, but this was different. The cold was a _part_ of her, crusting her skin and choking off her breaths. The trees whistling and shivered, tossing chunks of hardened ice down on her. She shivered violently, trying to wind her furs around her tighter. It did little to help.

She had fallen in a river, having slipped on a basin of black ice. The frost crusting the top of the lake had caked and shattered like glass when she fell onto it, leaving her to tred to the other side. She was stiff as a board by then, her whole body locking up like an unsoiled crank. She cursed under her breath, heaving herself up onto the bank. _Leaving Mance's host was a bad idea. A_ really _bad idea. All for what? Independence? A chance to escape from the mummery of that know-nothing crow?_

As she walked, she let her mind wander. Sparks of icy stillness kept leaping into them, however, causing her to mutter and curse even more. There was no peace within her mind, and certainly none within her body. The wind was blowing, suctioning her clothes to her body, where they clung and itched like leeches. Gods this was terrible.

It was a long time before she saw anything besides a few stray ravens who looked at her with beady black eyes, and a large hart bounding through the woods on stilted legs. What she saw was a fire. It was small but burst and crackled with life, a bubble of warmth within the desolation of the North. She eyed it carefully, narrowing her eyes. She didn't like it; no wildling in their right mind would light a fire outside a tent. Then that meant..

A twig cracked beneath her boot.

Suddenly a flurry of fur and teeth was upon her. Its golden eyes flashed violently, is pupils dilating. Its skin folded to reveal large, pearly fangs, glistening with slaver. She fell back, her robes cracking as the ice crusting them split apart. She scrambled backward. _Direwolf. It has to be a direwolf. Its so huge!_

"Summer!" Someone shouted. It sounded like a boy, but the way in which he spoke made him seem a man. 

The big beast cocked its head, jaws relaxing. It licked its maw once before turning its back on her, hackles raised, claws still grappling at the ground. Ygritte gasped, trying to distance herself more, but instead finding her fingers bubbling with numbness, her feet as well. She wouldn't be surprised if both were as black as tar, and as useless as it.

"She's alone," someone else murmured.

Suddenly there were three thick prongs at her throat, pushing into her flesh. She gulped, looking up at her attacker. It was a girl, young, if she had to guess, sixteen, maybe seventeen. Her eyes were a dull green, her hair a sharp shade of brunette. Her thin lips were set in a deep scowl, one to match with her disapproving eyes. And yet all the same there was something ruggedly appealing and attractive about her. Ygritte grinned.

"You wouldn't hurt a freezing little girl, would you?" She asked innocently.

"You are a wildling," she replied harshly, seeming as ill tempered as the direwolf. "You lot are all savages, arnt you? Sneaking up on your victims in the night."

Ygritte sighed. "I didnt get to do much sneaking.. that beast o yours got to me first." Suddenly something clicked into place. Jon had had a direwolf, a white one with red eyes. It looked like a weirwood, breathing and pulsing was life. This wolf had been Ghost's mirror twin, changing some of the colors to a rugged and dulled brown, with blazing yellow eyes. _Summer._

The gril exhaled slowly, removing the trident. "You come with any friends?"

"Friends are a strange thing up north. They leave you when the going gets tuff, and come back when theres blood to be had," she grinned. "Plan on spilling any blood with that fork o yours?"

"Its not a fork," she hissed. "Its a frog-spear."

Ygritte rolled her eyes. "Hate to break it to you, but frogs are a luxury we free folk have none of. You might catch a rat or two though, should you be so inclined."

"Bring her here," someone else said. He had a deeper, stauncher voice than the first boy. Ygritte turned. Around the fire sat four people and a giant stag and a direwolf. The first voice she heard belonged to a boy smothered in furs. His legs were stretched out before him, looking as useless as brittle sticks. His face was round and wide, his eyes a deep blue. The second, the one who had just spoken, looked a lot like the frog girl, but a boy, and brighter eyes. The man nearest the stag looked half dead, like an Other, which made Ygritte balk. The last was a giant of a boy, his shoulders hunched, a ragged ruddy beard growing from his thick chin.

"Who are you?" Ygritte asked, grinning all the while. This was about as ragtag a group could be.

"Meera," the girl replied evenly. "Thats my brother, Jojen. The direwolf is Summer, and his master, Bran. That's Hodor, and he's.. Coldhands." She said the last name with trepidation, causing Ygritte to frown. Her chill was momentarily forgotten, but her guard was up.

"He be an Other, though I don't know how. Those things are wild, as wild as wolves. You would do good to stay away from them." Ygritte cautioned. She was settled near the fire, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. It was thin, made of cloying black fur, most likely from a shadowcat. But it would do. The fire was a nice touch as well, though it had burned down to clicking embers.

"I wont hurt you," the Coldhands Other said. His voice was oddly monotone. "I am here as a guide, nothing more."

Ygritte eyed him but didn't reply. "You a skinchanger, boy?" She decided to ask, directing her attention to the boy, Bran. He gave her a funny look. "Im a warg, I think." He said it cautiously, evidently guarded. Meera and Jojen exchanged a look.

"Secrets," Ygritte muttered. "You knealers always have your secrets. Foolish. Secrets get people killed."

"So does information in the wrong hands," Jojen said hotly. "Some things are best left discrete."

 

***

 

That night, Ygritte had her wrists bound. They questioned her, well, sort of. They didn't seem to much mind her, but the giant boy, Hodor, seemed to keep muttering her name at maximum, sleeping as far from her as he could. Meera was commanded to guard her, though Ygritte knew she could escape easily if she wanted. However, something intrigued her about this group. They wouldn't tell her why they were out in the thick of the North, beyond the Wall. She couldn't deny that she was curious, but she knew answers would be a long time coming, if ever.

"You going to keep a good watch on me?" Ygritte asked Meera as everyone settled into sleep. The frog girl glared.

"If I have to."

"I suggest you do. Us wildlings have been known to steal a fair lady or two.. doin what we like with them." Ygritte grinned, flexing her fingers. Another blanket had been provided, the one the stag of Coldhands had been given, though it was hardly necessary. It still smelled of fur and cud.

"Good thing I am not a fair lady." Meera was crouched whereas Ygritte was laying down, her back to the stump of an old tree. Her hood provided a pillow enough, not that she didn't mind. She liked sleeping on the ground, listening to the heartbeat of the earth. Pillows and pads were commodities she did away with, though blankets were always nice.

"Ah, we do not discriminate. Fair or no, you are still a lady. A knealer. Are you folk really so docile" Bending yo knees to any lord with a big enough cock?"

Meera ground her teeth. "A red smile would look good on you."

"And a genuine one on you would be a sight to behold," the wildling shot back.

The frog girl faltered for a moment, looking the redhead up and down before sighing, sitting down, her frog-spear resting serenely in her lap. She looked uncomfortable and weary, but tired all the same. "That wolf 'll protect you. Why not just sleep? If I had a beast like that guarding me, I would taunt any Other I could find."

"Its my turn on watch. We cant rely on Summer for everything."

Ygritte sniffed. "Everything in the North is fair game, if you're ready enough to take it. Use what luxuries you have, for after a while you may find yourself without." She thought of Jon Snow, and the cave of the hot springs, the way he had touched her, made her feel.. she shook her head. No. He was a crow. Besides, it was a one time thing, it wasn't her fault if it felt extraordinary.

Ygritte did eventually fall into an uneasy sleep, though it was less burdened than normal. It was good to sleep around other people, having been away from Mance's party for a week or two. She liked hearing their breaths, fogging the night air, or the distant rumble of snores. She missed sleeping next to a lover in a warm embrace; that was what she missed the most.

Meera did finally sleep, though it was with a good foot or two of dead grass to separate them.

 

***

 

Ygritte, despite her better judgement, was infatuated with this odd assortment of people. There were never ending layers to the intrigue they presented, and she wanted to reveal them all. Meera seemed the strangest, in all truth. Sure, an Other was trailing them, but he was explained with a quick 'magic' type of excuse, and there was Hodor, a bumbling giant buffoon (though morons were hardly strange to her). Bran and Jojen presented their own deep folds, but neither of them seemed fully _there,_ in a crazy sort of way.

That left Meera, the girl who everyone seemed to forget.

She was the one who hunted most often, fishing in broken holes in the ice with her net and spear, and occasionally scrounging up a rabbit or a handful of acorns (which Ygritte liked not at all).

It was the fifth day when she was finally free of any bonds. They trusted her (or let on that they did, which was good enough for her), and told her she was free to go. She felt a wound to her pride at the fact that she was so easily cast aside, weak, in their eyes, but it hardly mattered. _We all have our secrets. Let me have mine and them theirs._ Meera was less trusting, arguing against setting her free. Bran, who seemed to call most of the shots, had just said "if she wanted to hurt us, she would have."

Meera remained awake at night, however, choosing to take watch first nearly every single time. At first Ygritte ignored this, taking her filling of sleeping, knowing the next day would be colder and meaner than the last. But eventually something told her to stay awake, to learn and to watch. After all, Meera Reed did have other interesting things about her.

"So, whats your story?" Ygritte asked.

"Go to sleep." Meera was leaning against a tree, her head lolled listlessly to the side.

"Why? There aint nothing for me in my dreams. Just ghosts and old memories."

Meera turned to look at her, though it was more a look of apprehension and.. understanding than anything else. It shocked and amazed Ygritte, and she felt a little more confident for it. _Since when have I gauged people's emotions like this? Its trivial and dumb._ But it wasn't. It was the most interesting part about the whole ordeal.

"You have ghosts too?" Meera asked cursiously.

"Dont we all? Its what makes up human and not, say, an Other." She stole a glance at Coldhands, though again, his eyes were wide open, unseeing and dull. He was corrupted by something deeper and darker than any of them could comprehend, and yet the fact remained the same: he was no human. He did not have emotion. He did not love.

"True," Meera mused. "Sometimes I think ghosts are what keep us sane. They keep up company when no one else will."

Ygritte snorted. "True enough. Why not them?" She waved to the Jojen, Hodor and Bran, all of whom were sleeping soundly and comfortably. "They should be human enough for you."

Meera sat back down, knocking her head against the tree, staring up at the wide face of the moon. "Jojen and I used to be close, before he started getting his dreams. They came suddenly and without cause, and at the same time, I lost my brother. He changed. He lost part of himself, driven by someone who wasn't even him." A look of bitterness wafted across her features. "Bran.. well.. I have a feeling he'll be the same way. The three eyed raven will change him. We all know it. A big part of me doesn't want to get too attached. And Hodor.. do I need to explain?"

"Probably best not to," Ygritte muttered. She paused then, listening to the distant river, shelled in a layer of eyes, the popping of the fire and the snoring of their companions. "I know what it's like to lose people. It sucks, but we get through it. Maybe its not all for the better, but as you said, we still have our ghosts."

Meera smiled a little, though it was just a little, hardly there at all. _Come on. I know you want to._

 

***

 

Those were the last few days of sanity. Before Jojen died, turned to a bloody pulp by the children of the forest. Before Bran truly did become a husk of what he once was, and Hodor took to rambling in a corner, huddled all alone with only a few rotted leaves and a raven to comfort him. Everything was broken. Everything except Meera.

They had been hiding in the tree for two months. It was long and tiresome, waiting and watching, and endless cycle that only bred apathy and boredom. Ygritte wanted to leave, but where would she go? These people, as strange as they were, were her last strand of humanity, the last string of what had once been a family. She loathed the idea, but also missed what could have been if she stayed. _I could be over the wall, in the South, with my people._

She was hurting deep in her heart, beneath the furs and hides of her kills.

Finally, when the moon rose to a pinnacle, Meera woke her in the night. "We're leaving," she said. Her tone left no room for contemplation or question, so Ygritte did as she was bid and sat up, packing her things in a tight bundle.

The moon was a ripe sickle, the stars bright like a dusting of freckles along the belly of night. It was cold and dreary, a fog clinging low to the trees and stalks of frozen bushes. Meera weaved through them, a sullenness in her form, rippled only with trepidation and regret. "Dont look back," Ygritte murmured earnestly.

So they didnt.

Eventually tire wore on them, walking through all of the next day and into the blush of sunset. "We should stop," Ygritte said. Meera turned to her and Ygritte saw tears in her eyes. _How long had those been there?_

Ygritte did the only thing she could do; she hugged her. It was a tight embrace, one that Ygritte put her all into. Meera clung to her back, tears spilling down her cheeks in a massive, tumultuous wave. She was shaking, trembling as only someone truly afraid could. "We left them," she sobbed.

"I know," Ygritte soothed, running her hands over the girl's back, the blades of her shoulders, the waves of her hair. She was gentle, soothing away the hurt and tremors with a steady, frigid gait. "Its going to be ok. I promise."

Meera looked up at her, pulling away and whiping away her tears. "Im sorry," she muttered. "I don't usually fall apart like that."

They started to make camp, starting a fire (though the wood was damp and barley lit to much more than smoke. It was dark, the trees now boiled in a pot of ink, one stretching closer and closer to them. They huddled beneath a bramble of a fallen branch, covered in a thin veil of ice. It served as about as much shelter as they were going to get.

Meera layed out her bed roll, shivering violently. The wind picked up, causing the thicket to bristle loudly, shaking loose a few pocks of dusty snow. Ygritte laid her pad down next to the Reed's, keeping her distance. They tried to sleep, but Ygritte knew neither of them were going to drift off any time soon.

Finally, Meera spoke. "Can you hold me?" Her teeth were chattering and the silhouette of her body was trembling. Ygritte's heart started to pound and a faint blush rose to her cheeks.

She didn't say anything as she shuffled closer to Meera before carefully wrapping her arms around the smaller girl. She fit snugly in Ygritte's arms, cuddling closer to her body, her head cradled beneath Ygritte's chin. The wildling sighed, holding her close. _Ive felt this once before. This time, I'm prepared._

 

 


	4. Daenerys/Rhaenyra - Conquerers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For FelipeCH98
> 
> Prompt: AU where Rhaenyra is reincarnated (with all her memories of the Dance of Dragons) as Dany's twin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought this was a really interesting idea (and Rhaenyra is one of my favorite characters from the lore so win win). This was originally going to be a shorter ficlet but eventually I realized I wanted it to be really long with a lot of details (if this did happen in the books).
> 
> Dont worry Quentyn still gets roasted and Viserys gets golded.

"A wedding fit for a king!" Illyrio Mopatis announced, a goblet of arbor red bubbling in her meaty fist. A wide smile was plastered onto his swollen lips which puffed out like small sausages. Daenerys wrinkled her nose. _One king. Two queens. Who do you choose, Illyrio?_

Two thrones had been erected, one made of twirled wood the color of peat, veined in thin rivers of ruby. The second was hardly a throne at all, more of a low bench made of oak and woven grass. Daenerys found it quite comfortable, though it smelled horribly of horse and heat.

Viserys sat upon the throne fit for a Targaryen, his bride atop his lap. Rhaenyra looked uncomfortable at best, her young face and eyes showing signs of mistrust and disgust. Though beyond that, there was something deeper. Much deeper. In their girlhoods, Nyra always told Dany stories, ones that seemed to resonate deep within her chest like the flutterings of small moths. She told tales of kings and battles, of death and destruction. Of dragons and lords. Dany, at first, had assumed they were just tales made to amuse and frighten her, but when Viserys overheard he mocked them, furious that they would scorn the family name.

 _Viserys was Nyra's father's name, so long ago. He was just, and she was his favorite._ Though in truth, Rhaenyra was Viserys's favorite even now. He had chosen to wed her, after all, chucking off Dany to the horselord, Khal Drogo. Her husband did look stoic, a mask of paint hiding the crow's feet near his eyes. He looked ruggedly handsome, in a way, but he was large. Plates of muscle rose and fell in vallies under his skin, and his legs were the size of barrels. Dany swallowed. _What else of his is that big.._

Illyrio's toast went unanswered, save for Viserys, who smiled wickedly, cupping Nyra's thigh. The girl curled her lip, fighting back a wave of rage. Dany recognized when her sister was angry, and when she was, the instegator would have hells to pay. She had always been quick to anger, the flames of her memories burning deep within her where no one could stoke or tend to them. _She will be the conquerer. Not Viserys. He is a child compared to her._

Ser Jorah stood at Daenerys' side, his face a mask of stern turpitude. When he caught her gaze, a thin smile ghosted his lips. "Does m'lady enjoy her wedding?"

Dany nodded. "As much as I am able, Ser." She winced as another Dothraki took a women right in front of her. Nerves wormed through her gut, eating at her flesh as if trying to burrow to sunlight. She took a cup of sweet, watered wine.

"A lady should enjoy her wedding, as well as her husband," Jorah said.

"He is not my husband. Not yet." She still felt the small pangs of defiance for her brother. She often times wondered if she would be more complicit had Rhaenyra never been born, to help share the burden of his torment. It was a dark and sickening thought. What would she do without her sister of love and beauty? The storyteller of her childhood, the one that promised to keep her safe, that some day they would rule Westeros. In those stories Viserys was never mentioned, and it went without saying they both preferred it that way. "Besides, shouldn't a lady choose who she is to wed?"

"In Westeros, marriages are arranged when politics are involved. Marriage for love often causes mishap and strife, I speak from experience."

Dany nodded absently, her gaze shifting to her sister. She was being felt up by Viserys, his eyes alight with hunger and lust. Rhaenyra, by contrast, looked like a fireball of rage, her eyes brazen fields of amethyst, her pale white hair braided like swords. She was fierce as any dragon, maybe more so. _She once had a dragon, Syrax. A yellow-scaled girl who was as strong as Sunfyre._

 

 

***

 

The wedding went by without consequence, the gifts flowing like the turbulence of a small stream. By the end, the thrones were shrouded in snarls of books, chests, necklaces and jewels. Dany and Rhaenyra thanked the givers without question, though it was Illyrio who presented the gift of most value. To Daenerys he presented two dragon eggs, one black with a blushing of red rims, and a green one, each shining like glass. To Rhaenyra, he gave her two more, one white as milk and the other yellow as a setting sun.

Khal Drogo presented Dany with a silver mare, similar to the color of one of the dragon eggs. When she mounted the girl, she felt safe, as if in a mother's embrace, though she had never felt that, not once. She only had her brother's cruel and lustful hugs and kisses to ponder and lookback on.

Her horselord was not gentle with her, yet Dany found her mind straying to her sister and brother, who had ridden not at all, preferring a quiet tent near the beach. ~~~~_He better have been gentle with her. I swear to all the gods.._

Days went by after that. Dany was to ride near her Khal, while Viserys and, by consequence Nyra, were always doted on near the rear of the Khalasar, fanned by rich palm leaves and given small cups of icy crystal water. Daenerys was presented with no such luxuries, having to brave the heat of the blazing son, and the weight of a burn on her shoulders. She was being roasted alive, and once more she longed for the house with the red door and the lemon tree.

Khal Drogo took her every night, but beyond that he did little. She would sneak away, finding a grove of trees, dead or otherwise, to sulk under. Nyra found her one night when the stars were fat and swollen, looking like small eggs in the sky. "Does he treat you well?" She asked.

Dany swallowed and shrugged. "It hurts, but it is over quick. What about you?"

Nyra smirked. "Viserys is gifted little and less in bed, I must say. Quite a pity." She bit her lip. "You know of my white knight? Ser Criston Cole?"

Dany nodded. Rhaenyra talked of him often, or at least she did until Viserys caught wind of it. Criston had been a love of Nyra's, though her sister did admit she slept with him only once before he ran like a coward. Daemon became her husband after that, and he was less kind, more akin to their brother. Dany still could hardly fathom the pain Nyra endured, and had died for, yet she was hear now, dragonless, stuck in a whirlwind of innumerable torments, married to her brother.

"He was impulsive as well, disgusted by my advances. Sometimes I wish for him. A man more.. conscious. Viserys is nothing like my old father. His namesake is scorned now, I am furious to admit. He does not deserve it. Nor does he deserve the title of king." Nyra went silent. "His death will be a pleasant one, and I hope to see it."

See it she did. Rhaenyra had tears in her eyes the night she came to Dany, her long, feathery hair tangled and mussed. Her cheeks were red and she was breathing hard, her shoulder bared and covered with small bruises. Dany was seething, a powerful feeling rising up from her gut like a spurt of boiling water. When her sister was presented to her Khal, nearly cowering, shielding her face and eyes, Drogo had been enraged, wrinkling his nose and calling Viserys to his tent.

A crown of gold was bestowed upon him, dribbling down his cheeks like rain. "A crown fit for a king."

 

***

 

When the dragons hatched, Dany felt new, clensed. Drogon and Rhaegal clung to her shoulders like metal guards, gleaming in the sunlight, small jaws gnashing. Rhaenyra had come out as a near mirror image, Viserion, named after her old father, and Syrax reborn crawling across her bear breasts, coiling around her neck. The men and women of the Khalasar just stared in awe at their queens, unable to fathom their greatness.

"Did you name his after our brother?" Dany asked, settling Drogon into his little cage. He hissed, small tendrils of smoke cupping his horns.

"I named him after my father. Our brother deserves to be forgotten, a mere face to haunt our nightmares." She smiled fondly at the milky white dragon. "He will be as kind as Criston, as Baelor the Blessed, as you are." A grin spread across her features, a ripple of jubilation that caught Dany offguard. She liked that smile, she decided, and vowed to see more of it.

 

***

 

When they took Meereen, Dany knew a storm was brewing. Turmoil had ripened in the streats, the Sons of The Harpy had began to fester like poisoned wounds, and Hizdahr zo Loraq was just another burden she must bear. It was common knews she took a sellsword to bed, Daario Naharis, though there was no love there. She simply needed a release, a small memory of Khal Drogo, a kindling of the feelings that had budded when they married.

It was also common in whispers that Nyra had taken the Shavepate to bed, and even Kezmya, the small cupbearer. Dany trusted her sister had been good and kind, though somthing in her gut decayed at the thought.

War was slick on the horizon like fresh blood, pooling in the marrow of the mountains and the pocks of the sea. Ships from Qarth had settled in the harbor, and men from Volantis had crowded the gates like maggots on a corpse. Dany's only respite was when she visited the dragons, kept deep beneath the pyramids. Viserion and Rhaegal were kept here, one from each mother. Viserion never hurt Dany, but it was clear his love was only surface level.

Syrax had been kept separately within the keep of a separate pyramid, having grown much larger. People took to caller her Mother Sun before Drogon had taken to pillaging. Indeed she did look like the sun, whereas Drogon resembled the night sky void of stars, stained in ribbons of blood. Dany missed him, and saw little and less of him, a small bead near the horizon. She liked to reach out into the sky, hoping, praying he would come back. _Syrax stayed, why havnt you?_

That was the day Quentyn Martell arrived, fresh in the guise of the sellsword turncloak Frog. He had been a member of the Windblown, though for a precariously short period of time, and was less likable than Dany would prefer to admit. Nyra advised to have him killed, but after a few days took an intrigue to his strange manor. "I once knew Dorne," she would say. "Enemies of cold blood, but I knew it. Tell me, how have the Martells fared?" He had looked confused and spluttered, but Nyra had always been cautious with her tales, telling only Dany. 

It was later proclaimed that they should be married. "I do not wish to marry that prince of frogs," Nyra growled one morning as they broke fast on a tray of figs and fruit. "He is cowardly, living in his fantasies of grandeur. He is foolish and wrought in ignorance."

"I would think you would get along, living in your fantasies and what not." Dany quipped, biting into a fig. Missandei was watching, like a small sawwhet owl, her eyes wide, her face small. Dany often slept with her, if only to calm the young girl's nerves. Other nights she would sleep with Nyra, though something kept nagging at the back of her head like a small hook.

Nyra wrinkled his nose. "His dreams are rooted in books, the true danger glossed over. He is not fit for a throne of any kind. I would much rather marry you."

Dany's eyes widened and her heart started to pound, thumping with a stampede. "The city demands different things of us, Nyra. I am wed to a Ghiscari, and you will be wed to the Martell boy."

Her sister didnt look amused. "We agreed to rule together, did we not? You should not assume to force a marriage on me. It has already happened with Laenor and Daemon. I do not wish for that again." After a few moments her eyes softened. "Besides, when we cross the sea, you will have no need of that Ghiscari craven. I have half a mind to marry you then." She grinned wickedly at Dany's shocked expression. "Targaryens have married brother to sister for centuries, keeping the blood of the dragon pure."

"Brother to sister," Dany pointed out numbly, a hot blush rising to her cheeks. "Not sister to sister. We would produce no children."

Nyra shrugged. "Then take a husband to father your children. A southern lord, or a Tyrell of the Reach. It matters not. When we reach Westeros, you will be free to marry as many times as you want."

"I am not like Maegor or Aegon the Unworthy," Dany retorted sourly. "I will be a loyal wife."

Finally Nyra sat back, defeated, looking rejected. "Have it your way."

 

***

 

When Daenerys went missing, flying off on the back of Drogon, Nyra had been distraught. Men had been ordererd from the gates of the city in a swift search for her, but all returned empty handed. Rhaenyra didn't know what to do, and took to visiting her dear Syrax, her golden beauty, to distill the fire that was raging within her. Yet when she went to see Viserion, and by consequence Rhaegal, she saw no grief or mourning in the green dragons eyes. _She lives,_ he seemed to say.

She had been engaged to her prince of frogs just a few nights ago, and, in her fury and hurt, had taken him to Syrax. The beast, truly reborn after having been slaughtered in the Dragon Pit, was hers, ytterly and truly. She couldnt take her out of her chamber, if not only so she wouldnt be brought down by a fearful scorpion bolt, but because she feared that the people would revolt in disgust and cowardice. Today was different though.

"I have always wanted to ride a dragon," Quentyn admits quietly, slowly creeping towards the Mother Sun. Syrax snorted a puff of scalding smoke, causing the prince to jump back in alarm. "She will not hurt you," Rhaenyra promised. "So long as you are good to her and me."

He nodded, resting a boney hand against the curve of her nose. Syrax rumbled deep in her throat, her beady eyes piercing. She took her prince flying that day, carefully picking their way through the cotton clouds and the spears of sun. He was laughing all the while, reaching his hands up to the sky, running his fingers through the light. He was indeed a queer boy, but he reminded Nyra of her childhood, of her father's hatred of Dorne and the Martells. She had met very few Westorosi, and missed them greatly. _My intrigue for him is only out of intrigue for what once was. I will never love him._

When the clouds started to turn to inky tar and the sun began to bleed, Syrax was returned to her pyramid, and Rhaenyra took Quentyn to see Viserion. Rhaegal hissed and scampered away, slinking off into a corner. His chains clinked noisily, which Rhaenyra misliked. They should never have tethered the beasts in this dark hellhole, and she regretted it greatly. Quentyn took a grand liking to Viserion, and Rhaenyra decided not to sway him otherwise. _Let him have his fun._

The real reason why he liked Viserion was because the prince of Dorne thought he already owned the beast, being betrothed to a Targaryen and all. It was three days later when Quentyn's body was brought to her, flesh peeling off in great red ribbons. His face had been seared to blackened freying, and his eyes were all but puddles of white egg-like goop. He was muttering and whimpering, but Nyra felt no pity. _Do not anger a dragon, boy._

 

_***_

 

The sun was high in the sky when the Dothraki horde came screaming down the mountain, swords glistering like ice sickles as they pummeled through the sparse grass. Their cries rang through the city. The Sons of The Harpy had began their killings more often than not, and Rhaenyra was reduced to little and less. Guards had barred every exit, standing like onyx statues at her doors. Even the old knight Barristan Selmy could do naught to help her. Her dragons were to be killed, along with Rhaegal, and she spent most nights crying it fits of rage. 

It was when Drogon appeared from the sun like a great black eye that Rhaenyra acted. She climbed down from her window, her hands and knees clanking against the hot stone. She made her way past Brazen Beast and Windblown alike, tumbling from rooftop to rooftop until she reached her pyramid.

Flying of Syrax was ever sweet, the clouds hugging her in welcome. She soared above it all, the people  scuttling like small beetles. She had half a mind to burn them all, like her new father had so willfully made his words. She wouldn't however, and instead settled for blasting the second pyrmid apart. Rhaegal and Viserion flocked to her, screeching loudly. Rhaegal spun around, searching for his mother, before bolting away, quick as a streak of lightning.

The city fell. Fires smoldered gleefully in the harbor, ships reduced to splinters and shrapnel. Men flug themselves into the water, screaming and wailing like fish. They burned along with their sins. Drogon laid waste to them followed by Rhaegal, whereas Rhaenyra attacked Hizdahr and his men, collecting them in a corner, huddling so meakly she felt slight pity. It wasn't enough to save their lives. Syrax always did enjoy a good meal.

 

***

 

When the ships landed on Dragonstone, everything fell into place. Her old home was bittersweet. She remebered the good and the bad of those stony promontories, the shallow rocks fisting up from the glimmering sea. The memories she hated swarmed back as well; the death of her only daughter, Visenya, the old bumbling dwarf, Mushroom, as well as her own death to Sunfyre by her half brother Aegon II. She hated him, but hated more how she never got to say goodbye to her only surviving son, the other Aegon.

_I am back now, and this time the throne will not evade me._

The Lords of all the kingdoms came to her, having been soiled and foiled by Cersei, the Lannister Bitch who ruled with a shaky iron fist. First the Martells, though a great bitterness remained for Nyra's acts, and they even wished to be rid of Viserion, so she did them a favor, keeping her milky white dragon out of sight. The Tyrells followed, their council small, consisting only of a shriveled prune of a lady named Olenna. Lastly there was the North, and the Bastard King Jon Snow. He was a queer fellow, one Nyra grew to hate. 

Jon was confident and leal, always putting others before himself. Nyra supposed she should admire that, and it wasnt him particularly, but rather how he seemed to endear Daenerys. The two shared a bond, she did not doubt, but she hated it nonetheless. Syrax loathed him as well, hissing and snapping as he passed. Jon had the audacity not to look affected, stoking Nyra's hate even more. _His time will come._

It made her even more enraged when the bastard required Daenerys's army, all of them, for his battle against the undead. "You cant!" Nyra hissed. "The Iron Throne comes first!"

"I agree, but we need the allegiance of the North. When need him." What she really meant was _I need him._ Nyra finally relented, giving in, but was surprised when she was given the chance to take the throne for herself.

"Take the forces of High Garden and Dorne. Attack King's Landing with Syrax and Viserion. When I win this battle, and you win yours, we will finally have peace." Dany had smiled at her then, squeezing her hand. Nyra knew she could and should object, but she didnt.

She gathered her forces, first securing High Garden, the seat of the Tyrells, then moving to the outskirts of the Stony Shore, planning on rallying support. What she found, however, was a fleet of ships, a kraken sailing from their banners. _Greyjoy._ And indeed it was. There were two of them, an older looking white haired eunuch named Theon, and his sister, the lecherous and flirtatious Asha. Their allegiance was swift in arrival, and allowed Nyra to send half the Tryell forces to the North, where Dany could use them.

King's Landing was heavily fortified, its walls made of thick stone akin to that of Harrenhal. _Yet Balerion still took Harrenhal, and its ghost still plague the realm. Let us pray I do not have to do them same._ She didn't. The city surrendered after Viserion had plowed through the portcullis and Syrax and the Iron Fleet took Euron's forces unaware. Soon the smell of smoke was as thick as a curtain of rain. Victory was on the horizon.

Viserion took a scorpion bolt in the shoulder, grounded for the remainder of the seige, but his fire was as hot as ever. _My late father would have been proud._

Cersei was held in a cell deep beneath the roiling towers of the red keep, and, Nyra noticed, had the company of a strange, corpse of a man. She kept them apart well enough, executing a strange, old ex-maester by the name of Qyburn. From the very start he unnerved her greatly. 

It was then that Rhaenyra took the throne in all its glory, waiting for Daenerys. After securing Dorne, she sent the rest of the Tyrell army North, should they be needed, and dispatched the Iron Fleet as well. Power that she had never known had taken her in its blissful claws, and she never planned on letting go. With the smell of stone dust, wood smoke and peat thick in the air, she let the wind flap in her hair. _Home._

 

_***_

 

Daenerys returned  victorious, Rhaegal and Drogon flying high above, though Nyra was furious to see that the bastard king was riding atop the splendid green dragon, clinging to his glossy scales. Dany was astride Drogon, a field of men below her. They looked like a wave of silver and bronze, glittering like jewels set in sand. With them came the Starks; a broken boy named Bran who could see far and wide, a girl who was as stiff as a board and strong as an ox, Arya, and the distant yet cold Sansa. Nyra liked none of them. 

A small council was erected quickly, and all was put at peace. There was still turmoil within some of the Kingdoms, and the westerlands had yet to pledge full loyalty, but will four dragons an any army fit for a king, little could stand against the Targaryen queens.

"Do you love him?" Nyra asked as she shared a keg of wine with Dany. Their chambers, connected via a small tunnel, served just as well for nightly council and gossip. Despite what they let on, at least for the part of Dany, they were still girls.

"Maybe," Dany replied, looking past the rim of her cup. "Would you be angered if I did?"

"Perhaps," Nyra allowed with a slight smirk.

Dany set her drink down, raising her eyes to Nyra. "You said you would marry me, so long ago. Was that just idle banter, sweet sister?"

Nyra gulped. Had it been? Thinking back it was hard to remember all the events. Her memories were hazy and waxed over with a sheen of blood and gore. Smoke lined it as well, but she always could see through that. Even her older memories, the ones of her time as a rebel against Aegon, were fading ever so slowly. "Idle as war," Nyra replied evenly.

Then Dany was kissing her, their lips parting. Nyra let out a shocked grunt before grabbing Dany's thighs, hoisting her up to rest against her hips. Dany moaned, tangling her finger's in Nyra's alabaster hair. Dany had always been smaller, not by much, but noticable enough to roar in the ear of Nyra's lust. She practically tossed Dany back on the bed, already tugged her shift off and flinging it to the side. Dany grinned. "The Realm's Delight."

Nyra laughed heartily, straddling Daenerys's hips, leaning over her sister and brushing a few strands of hair out of the way. "A dragon can have only one rider. Is that bastard Snow yours, dear sister?" Nyra growled next to Dany's ear, causing the other girl to shiver. She shook her head, a little shocked. "Good," Nyra hissed. She began to nip along Dany's neck, earning a few shudders and a couple whines. She bit down harder, feeling Dany buck her hips.

_Mine. She's mine, finally._

She quickly removed Dany's clothing, tossing it aside before attacking her chest with another barrage of kisses. Dany covered her mouth with the back of her hand, her breaths plowing into her chest. Rhaenyra smirked. "Have you ever been with a woman?" Nyra asked, lifting her head. 

Dany shook her head. "N- No."

Nyra grinned widely. "Good. I wouldn't want to damage their egos."

"What-"

Nyra attacked Dany's breast, sucking the nipple into her mouth and biting. Dany moaned, her fingers finding their way into Nyra's hair, tugging at it harshly. _The dragon has claws then. Two can play at that game._ She started to rake her nails down Dany's sides causing the other girl to whine. "Oh gods-" Nyra didn't stop, wasting no time in tugging off Daenerys's skirt and underthings. Her sister was wet for her, which made Rhaenyra swell with pride.

She dragged her nails lightly across Dany's thighs and near her center. Dany bucked her hips. "Please."

"Please what?" Nyra drawled. She kissed down Dany's torso, her teeth sinking in ever so slightly.

"Please touch me-"

"Where?" Nyra smirked, feeling Dany shudder violently.

"You know where," Tears had sprung in the Targaryen's eyes, her face red and her cheeks puffing out with every breath. Nyra relented giving in. She sunk two fingers into Dany without preamble. They slunk in with a squelch (one that Nyra was used to, in all her years), so she only smiled.

Dany moaned loudly, bucking her hips. Nyra added a third finger, thinking on Dany's two husbands with a seething hate. She shoved her fingers deeper, crooking them inside, crossing them when she could. Dany resisted that at first but gave in with a violent cry. Then Nyra started stroking her clit with her thumb, pressing on it, all the while biting up between Dany's breasts. Dany came with a loud shout, one that would undoubtedly wake the entire Red Keep.

Nyra didn't care. She just wanted more. More of those oh so sweet sounds.

When Dany finally collapsed, Nyra left a few apologetic kisses on her collarbone, gently flicking her tongue across them. Her love bites littered Dany's body like petals of a rose, contrasting sharply with her snowy pale skin. Nyra rested her head on her sisters chest, feeling the ache between her legs increase to a roaring thrum. _Patience.._

She waited for her sister to react, knowing that this was all new to Dany, and sudden, like a drunken one-night stand. She wouldn't be all that surprised if that was what this was, but her worries were soon dispelled when Dany rolled her over, sinking her nails into Nyra's shoulders to pin her to the bed. Rhaenyra gasped, looking up into the lavender eyes of her sister. "That was cruel," Dany hissed. "How am I going to hide all these from the guards?"

"Dont." Nyra replied, her voice breathy. "Dont hide them. I want the whole world to know that you're _mine."_

Dany grinned. "Oh? And what makes you think you arnt _mine?"_ She licked her lips seductively. "A dragon bites back."

Indeed she did. Dany's kisses were searing, all teeth and tongue, which Nyra minded not at all. Her body was all to her sister, which felt remiscant of that one night with Criston Cole so many years ago. Laenor and Daemon had never been so kind or collected, taking their pleasure and leaving her with a pulsating child to care for. Her pleasure back then came from herself, and, occasionally, a serving girl or boy. _What does it matter now? That was a time long passed. It is over and done with. I have a future now._

 

 

***

 

It was later, much later, that more dragons came into the world. Three dragons in fact, the product of Syrax and Drogon. One was black and gold, another a smoky grey, and the last one as yellow as her mother. They were named Aegar, Grayworm and Leraxes. Nyra played with them every day, loving the way they nipped at her fingers or would cast small ringlets of far at her legs. "You will grow big someday," she said. "And the dragon pits shall be teaming with life once more."

Daenrys watched from a window, smiling gently. Her belly was big, though she was early along still. Their daughter, Rhaenya, clung to Dany's hang, looking frightening. Nyra smiled, ushering the small girl closer. She was wearing a small white dress laced in a frilly purple, the color of ripe lavender. It complimented her eyes. _She's not my daughter. Not truly. She is Jon's._ But that didnt matter. He would have his own, other children in time, once he gave his queens sufficient heirs.

Rhaenya approached Aegar carefully, her small feet padding as cautiously as a pup's. Her eyes were wide when the small dragon came bounding up to her, leaping onto her chest and nuzzling it's head into her neck. She giggled and sat down, stroking the Aegar's wings and tail, watching as he snorted small plumes of gold-black fire.

Dany came up next to her, grinning. "Our little dragon knight."

Rhaenyra laughed. "Yes. If only she had Blackfyre as her sword."

 


End file.
